


These are the beginnings of sorrows

by ImagineExisting



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Actual plot, Angst, Eastern Front, Fun Facts, Historically Accurate, Hopefully some fluff, I’m so poetic, M/M, Russian Politics, Similar to a mafia fic, VictUuri, Victor spelt as Viktor, WW1, and a bit of victuuri, but more angst, chris is Russian now, haha - Freeform, hopefully, i spent time on this shit, if you didn’t know, in 1916, its plot driven ok, major angst, mostly - Freeform, nikolai is a real person, please let me rip your heart out, they're gonna be sad baby’s, yuuri is a spy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-16 08:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineExisting/pseuds/ImagineExisting
Summary: ‘Nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom. These are the beginnings of sorrows.’Yuuri is a spy. For the Germans. For the bloody Germans and Viktor, as a Russian soldier, has no idea how to deal with this new information about his friend.





	1. These are the beginnings of sorrows

You are blind like us. Your hurt no man designed,  
And no man claimed the conquest of your land.  
But gropers both through fields of thought confined  
We stumble and we do not understand.  
You only saw your future bigly planned,  
And we, the tapering paths of our own mind,  
And in each other's dearest ways we stand,  
And hiss and hate. And the blind fight the blind.

When it is peace, then we may view again  
With new-won eyes each other's truer form  
And wonder. Grown more loving-kind and warm  
We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain,  
When it is peace. But until peace, the storm  
The darkness and the thunder and the rain.

To Germany— Charles Sorley, 1914

————————————————————————

“Just tell us what we want to know, goddamnit!” 

The man stayed silent. It had been 12 hours since the interrogation had started and no progress had been made. The others in the room wondered bitterly if he was making fun of them.

The officer leading the investigation put his hands together and sat back in his chair before hissing,

“Who sent you? The bloody Germans? They can’t help you now you know.” 

Of course it once again, forced no change into the pale face that would have seemed somewhat reminiscent of porcelain to the officer, if he had time to pay attention to those kinds of details. He was the type of man to wish he didn’t notice these things.

“Maybe we should take a break.” 

Another officer had spoken, seemingly out of concern for his colleague, but this had, in actuality, been spoken in Russian, unlike previous conversation which had been in strongly accented English and it had sounded more like like

“может быть, мы должны сделать перерыв” 

Which is honestly quite hard for any non-Russian people to understand so it has kindly been translated. 

“He understands Russian. There is no point to trying to hide what your saying.” The reply sounded colder than the soldier had intended but he didn’t really care.

The two men left the grey, box room into a messy office, containing maps and documents scattered around. There were pictures hung up on the walls of men in green uniforms, displaying their newly earned medals for outstanding displays of courage and strength, 

which really just meant murdering a lot of the enemy.

The first soldier, whose name was Viktor, started brewing tea and asked the other, who was called Christophe, if he would like any; He politely declined. 

“What happened if he doesn’t talk by the end of the night?” Viktor asked glumly, thinking back to the long hours of asking the same questions over and over until even a flicker of response showed. 

No answer was given to him by Chris, who just stood there sheepishly.

“Oh.”

Viktor prayed he wouldn’t have to try and torture ther answers out of the spy. It wasn’t how he wanted to spend his time. Especially with that person.

The tea was cold already. Just his luck. It was hard to get anything hotter than lukewarm to start with these days. The only thing left to do was go back in and continue.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Viktor stepped back into the box room and sat down.

The spy who was being interrogated didn’t look very much like a spy. To be fair, that does seem to be the point. He had soft black hair, that accentuated the translucence of his skin and was slightly chubby. He gave off the feeling of a shy, gentle person. Not the kind of guy you would expect in the army, nevermind a spy for the enemy. The handcuffs were quite visibly rubbing his skin raw, which, in turn, made Viktor feel nervous as it made him want to take them off. That wasn’t right. He was supposed to hate this man. 

“Yuuri, please. I am asking you one last time. Who sent you?” There was a pleading tone in Viktor’s voice that even he himself could notice. Shit.

“I really don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Yuuri smiled softly, absolutely avoiding eye contact. Viktor couldn’t look anymore.

“I’m sorry.” 

It was the first time Viktor had heard that voice in days and he cursed at the small twinge of happiness he felt from hearing it. That wasn’t allowed. 

There were mutterings within the room and it seemed they had reached the decision to force information out of him. With a nod of Chris’ head, his suspicion was confirmed.

It had been a while since Viktor and Yuuri had walked around, just the two of them; but in Viktor’s view it wasn’t quite the same when one of them was taking the other to be tortured as a spy. Yuuri’s face suggested he also found it quite depressing. It was strange how he could go from a blank slate to an open book in a matter of minutes. 

They walked along in silence the tapping of their shoes on the wooden floor echoing through the corridor. The same brand. Like all the other army officers; Like what Yuuri was supposed to be and Viktor couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t. They didn’t pass many people but those they did seemed to notice the tense atmosphere and remain quiet. 

Turning a corner, they ran into a small boy and a large man, each of them emphasising the others size making the pair look quite comical.

The smaller one went to spit on Yuuri but was stopped by Viktor and turned around to the other shaking his head. It wasn’t the time or place for that, but Viktor was sure the future brought a lot of it.

“What the fuck is that doing here.” 

He glared as he spoke scornfully. The other stayed silent but seemed to have a similar interest. 

“Be nice Yuri. I’m taking him down to be ‘convinced’ into speaking. He’s got it pretty bad already.” He tried his hardest to not sound apologetic but failed quite spectacularly.

“Serves him right.” 

That was a low blow. Viktor cringed at the comment, even if it wasn’t aimed at him. Yuri’s impossibly tall companion, Otabek, didn’t make a sound, that one just seemed averse to most forms of communication. Yuri just saw what had happened as a betrayal and couldn’t help but to be quick to anger, reminding Viktor of a small dog.

Yuuri avoided a kick aimed at him before being led away by Viktor through the blank corridor. It was a stark change from the trenches, which were constantly bustling with soldiers. 

The renewed silence that had come between them wavered in the air. Viktor wished that Yuuri would just say something but he doubted that would happen.

“Viktor.”

Viktor had been wrong. Yuuri had spoken and it had been horribly familiar. His voice was a little hoarse from his continued silence but it had the same soft, apologetic tone as always; As if nothing had changed. 

He turned away, pretending that that could stop him from hearing the following words.

“I didn’t want you to know, of anybody. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

Yuuri had choked on his words by the end and Viktor had the painful urge to turn around and hug him and tell him that it was all okay and forgiven. That would have been a lie.

“I’m not disappointed.” A sad chuckle had escaped Viktor’s throat and he stopped walking. He looked at Yuuri, straight in the eye, for possibly the first time since this had all started. He hadn’t forgotten what a pretty hazel colour they were. How could he forget. How could he have let himself get drawn in by those pretty eyes, like the innocence that twisted within them, even now, wasn’t an absolute lie.

“I’m not your goddamn mother. I’ve only known you for a year, but I thought I knew you better than this. That’s my own fault.” 

He hadn’t meant to shout. He hadn’t meant to get angry, but he did. They continued on, a heavy weight on each of their minds, before reaching a metal door. They had arrived at their destination. It had seemed far too short of a walk even with the awkward silence having filled the gap between them for most of the journey.

Viktor shoved open the heavy door and stepped into the new room. It was a grey box, just like the interrogation room but instead of a table and chairs, hand and leg cuffs were bolted into the wall. There was a small counter which held bulky metal tools that had patches of rust and blood on them. It was a room Viktor hated and it gave him a cold shiver down his spine.

A stubbly man, looking to be in his late fifties to early sixties, glared at them before saying a gruff hello. A part of Viktor wondered if he should be saluting but he instead greeted the man back with fake cheerfulness plastered onto his face. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently.

“Lovely to see you Yakov. I have Yuuri right here and I’ll be... handing him over to you I guess.” 

He attempted to leave the room but was soon stopped and pressed to stay. Yakov always asked someone to stay and watch. Viktor had heard that it was so there were multiple ears to confirm the information but he had his own theory it was at least in part to alleviate the guilt of what he was doing. After all, there was someone there who could have stopped him. Viktor could have stopped him. But he didn’t.

Yakov began.

He began by asking Yuuri a question. He said calmly,

“Who sent you?”

Yuuri didn’t answer. 

His face didn’t even twitch as Yakov’s fist came into sudden contact with his cheek. The questions continued along with the blows but Yuuri’s face became a bloody mess without a single reaction. It was as if he had stored all his emotion away for later, when there was no one to watch him cry out in pain. That is, if he even really had emotions that weren’t faked.

His eye was heavily bruised and blood mixed with spit was dribbling from his mouth. He sat slumped on the ground, seeming to slip in and out of consciousness. Viktor told himself he had to watch but he couldn’t stand seeing Yuuri chained up and hurting like this.

He gave in and turned away. Why? Because he was a coward. He couldn’t bear to the fate he had forced upon his friend. What terrible person could do that? 

It was, of course, a stupid idea to turn away because it only made the sounds of each hit, each shout, louder, echoing around the room. Viktor stayed in this state of not knowing what to do with a growing self-hatred. Yuuri was going through so much more pain than him in this moment and he couldn’t even bring himself to believe it was deserving. He mentally added being a soldier to his list of what he was bad at. He wondered what would be next. 

The sun rose, out of their view in the room. A room where time passed slower with each drop of blood that ran down Yuuri’s face, like day would never again come for those whose fate called for it. For Yuuri and Viktor.

The cell that Viktor led Yuuri to was, by no means, pleasant, but Yuuri did not complain. He didn’t ask for treatment to his wounds, he wouldn’t have gotten it even if he had. Yuuri did not say a word as he was locked up. The stone of the floor, growing moss in the corners that no one had bothered to clean and there was only a rickety, wooden bed that had, quite obviously, been broken in half a few times and repaired quite half heartedly. The mattress was full of stitched up tears, only to still have its innards spilling out anyway and the sheets were thin, unwashed, Viktor assumed from their pale yellow colour. The walls had chains attached to them, ending with rusted cuffs. The ceiling was dripping water into a bucket, the toilet, he guessed. The only light was fed in by a tiny window through the slits between bars twice the thickness of his thumb. Well, it certainly wasn’t a luxury hotel.

Viktor wished he could have asked the guard on duty to switch for the night; he wanted to spend time with Yuuri, tell him he was sorry. He wanted to sit there for the whole night talking, like they used too, but he was quite aware of the fact that he was shaking and starting to sway. Trying to think of the last time he slept or ate, he stumbled off to his room.


	2. For the Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is struggling to throw away the past.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,  
England mourns for her dead across the sea.  
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,  
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal  
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,  
There is music in the midst of desolation  
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,  
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.  
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;  
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning  
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;  
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;  
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;  
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,  
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,  
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known  
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,  
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;  
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,  
To the end, to the end, they remain.

For the Fallen- Laurence Binyon, 1914  
************** 

Viktor was already catching himself doze off as he walked down the hallway, yet still managed to keep his back straight and tense out of habit. Or maybe it was his paranoia, screaming at him to be alert and ready. No one had said it outright, but he had seen the other men doing it. The trenches effected everyone.

He reached a door. Viktor didn’t really know what kind of wood it was made out of and even if he cared it was probably just the cheapest they could get. The handle was stiff as he tried to open the door but it gave way after a bit of rattling. 

There was a lack of smell in the room. The alcoves in which the men had slept in, always had the salty scent of sweat, hanging in the air and depending on where along the trench you slept, there would also be the overpowering smell of piss. It was nice to have no smell. If only a bit strange.

Chris also was living there, which Viktor honestly didn’t mind much. They were only expecting to stay for a couple of weeks at most but had tried to make it seem homely with their few possessions.

There was a strange sense of forced cleanliness in the room; the type that makes you sniff yourself to check you’re up to the right standards. The walls were whitewashed with a hairline crack running most of the way down the wall next to Viktor’s bed. Each of them had a small wooden desk on their side of the room for personal possessions. 

Stood on top of Chris’ desk was a pair of black ice skates, their blades glowing from incessant care. There was also a singular book but Viktor had never seen Chris read it or know what it was about. 

Similar to Chris’ desk, Viktor had made sure to arrange his belongings neatly. At the back was a small stack of paper with a small black box lying on top. The item inside the box had been a Christmas present from Yuri and Otabek that was carefully looked after as, most likely, the most expensive thing Viktor owned. Facing directly towards the chair was a framed photo of a woman in her early thirties. Her hair was up in a bun and her face was in a tired smile as the child next to her looked as if he was about to burst from excitement. It was an old picture now, but still as happy as the day it was first taken and that seemed to reflect on anyone who looked at it. 

There was one more item on Viktor’s desk, but he now felt confused and upset every time he looked at it. His eyes were constantly drawn to its figure and he couldn’t push down the irrational guilt it invoked.

It’s head was mostly burned black. It was stained with mud and grime that had sat through constant scrubbing. It was torn but stitched up with considerable effort in several places. It was the kind of second hand toy that nobody would want to buy. It was Viktor’s most precious possession. Not the expensive gift, not the priceless memory. The tattered old rag doll. And Yuuri gave it to him. Of course he did. Viktor still remembered the what happened. If someone asked, he could recite it like it happened yesterday.

************

The sound of thousands of feet hitting the ground in time didn’t sound like Viktor thought it should. It was quite thunderous but not particularly scary. It, in fact, had a steady beat you could put a tune to as the cold bit at your nose. And it would be the kind of tune that you would remember every now and then, humming along.

Yuuri told him they had been travelling for just over two hours and while half revelling in how good the man’s inner clock was, he still curved his mouth into a grimace. His feet were already starting to ache and the were not likely to feel much better later. The sun was nowhere to be seen through the thick clouds as snow drifted down onto the rolling land. The soldiers were supposed to refrain from talking but quiet chatter could be heard most of the time. 

Babbling away beside him, Yuuri’s nose was bright red and his hat was gathering snow. Viktor wasn’t paying proper attention to what he was saying but it was something about how things were going with Phichit on the western front. He offhandedly wondered who Phichit was.

The smell of smoke had started to drift over, causing many of the men to go rigid with alert. They were ordered to continue with caution by their commanding officer and the already waning blaze came into view. 

There had been a fire. Who knows who or what had started that fire. But no one who could tell them seemed to have been spared from the blaze. The town was now smouldering and the air was heavy and dry. The men had been allowed to disperse to look for survivors but nothing indicated any had been found. 

Yuuri was crouched down to the left of Viktor, but there had been too many cogs whirring in his brain at that moment to take much notice. He was too busy focusing on the cracks of scorched ground and flakes of burnt wood scattered on the floor. He was too busy focusing of the specks of black soot dancing through the air like the snowflakes they had been walking through minutes ago. Yet in the little world they had stumbled into there was only death and fire and not a single snowflake left. It was sad. And Viktor found tears in his eyes. Because what had happened couldn’t have been stopped by him or any of the others. What a terribly humiliating thought that was.

Breaking him out of his trance, Yuuri tapped on Viktor’s shoulder,

“Viktor...Viktor, are you okay?”

He looked adorable when he was concerned, which was a thought Viktor quite forcefully shoved out of his head before responding.

“I was just honouring the people who died and lamenting that we couldn’t have stopped it.”

Yuuri drooped a bit, making Viktor feel bad for bringing down the mood, but he didn’t have to worry long as he noticed an ugly, tattered doll clutched in Yuuri’s hands. After being asked about it though he seemed embarrassed to answering.

“I found the doll while looking around and it just looked so lonely, like it had been abandoned and, I don’t know, I just felt the need to help it. I know it’s not a real person but it’s like I’d be helping the child who must of lost this. Not to mention if they had escaped....”

Even though Yuuri has trailed off with his explanation, Viktor understood the need to do something, to the point that it was painful, because they were so powerless with their guns and bombs that the most they could hope to do was fix a missing child’s doll. That was the reason why he told Yuuri he would fix it up and that it would be the most beautiful doll Yuuri had seen by the end of it. 

It was amazing to Viktor that a smile could be filled with so much joy in times like these. And it secretly surprised him more that the smile could be so bright and glowing in itself. 

A voice, sounding a lot like Chris, had called them over to a field, right next to the town and as they approached, a long line of scorched bodies came into view.

There was 37 corpses found in total that day. 10 of them could be identified as children. The doll could have belonged to any one of those kids. Viktor’s gut twisted.

Many of the soldiers had volunteered to help dig separate graves for the deceased but it was denied on the grounds they had already spent too much time here so they made one mass grave instead. Viktor couldn’t help but think sarcastically ‘because the Russian government cares about its people more than anything.’

All the men who were there seemed to have made a collective and unspoken vow that day. They never forgot what had happened but they never said a word about it. There was no need to. There was no need to be reminded of what they saw, because what they witnessed was the cold hard truth of the times they were living in. A reflection of their life in the front lines and it wasn’t even near the bombs and the gunfire and the constant fear of death. It was in their own home.

The rest of the way had been a blur for Viktor, who had been too busy with his thoughts to really concentrate on anything else but it seemed this had been the same for everyone else because the chatter that had been prevalent before had died down into a hush. The men leaving he trenches were confused and there was choruses of them suggesting that everyone needed to swap round as they should really be the ones looking like that. After all, they just left the front lines

Once inside the cubby hole he was going to call home for the next 8 days Viktor took a real look at the doll. 

It had been made clumsily and was bursting at the seams. The design of the face had been destroyed and now was one big black smudge. The stuffing, which was falling out through its tears, was old straw that gave off a mouldy smell and the dress it wore was singed in several places. With a sigh, he got to work, first removing the rotting straw, then starting to sew the rips up. He was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Yuuri who seemed to marvel at the fact he could sew.

“My family back home was quite rich, you see, so I never really had to learn things like sewing.” Yuuri admitted embarrassed but amazed by what was common knowledge. 

For just a second it made Viktor feel ashamed by his poverty. He knew that it wasn’t how Yuuri had meant it but it still stung.

“I don’t know how I’m going to fix the dress without any extra fabric though,” he admitted but was taken aback when Yuuri said,

“Why can’t we just leave the dress as is. Surely it doesn’t matter whether the dress it’s wearing is pretty or not.” 

Viktor threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter that he hadn’t thought existed anymore within him. Yuuri looked confused and he turned to explain,

“I’m sorry, you just reminded me of something that happened a long time ago. When I was a young boy, my mother once had a job working as a maid in a noble house. She had served in that house for a few years yet one day she came home with puffy red eyes saying she was going to have to go out to look for a new job tomorrow. Her face was bleeding and there were ripe purple bruises on her arm that hadn’t been there that morning. I cried to her; told her she didn’t need a new job and that we could go live far away. She calmed me down and told me, ‘I only wanted that job for the pretty dress and I’ll be damned if all a girl needs in life is a pretty dress. Whether your clothes are ugly or beautiful you are still the same you and I don’t need a pretty dress to be me. Remember that. No matter what you wear you are still you and you are still human.’ I never forgot what she told me as I cried in her arms. Because she spoke the truth that a lot of people seem to forget. My mother was strong that day. She has been ever since and I hold her in the highest regard for it.” 

Viktor leaned back against the damp wall as thought of his mother filled his mind. It always made him a little sad. A s an adult he understood much more about how much she struggled. Life was cruel to her. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?!” 

Viktor turned round. He didn’t understand why Yuuri felt the need to apologise for what wasn’t his fault.

“What I mean is that I feel sorry that you had to be born to a situation where you had to struggle your way through life yet I seemed to have it easy.”

“Yet we’re all soldiers and equals now in war. Not to mention, you can’t choose how you were born.”

Viktor saw Yuuri’s eyes widen and smiled at the surprise he showed from having his apology completely rebutted. He offered to make a cup of tea as they spent the rest of their evening chatting and sleeping to the melody of shells whistling through the air. 

************

Things were different back then. It had seemed so hard yet in comparison to the present Viktor was facing it all looked so easy. To be fair, he had thought that during those times too. Maybe every day life gets a little harder.

Some corned beef and bread had made its way onto a plate in front of him and Viktor stared at it mournful before pushing it down and going to bed.

Once asleep, Viktor found himself in nightmares, with lies and betrayal from his friends around every corner. No one was safe. No where could keep him hidden. Who could even be trusted anymore? There was no escape, only wait until the morning came to push the night back to oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda spent almost the whole chapter in the flashback which was not quite the plan buuuut I’m making it work and I think it turns out ok right *wheezes*

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I usually stick to a policy of only mafia fics for Victuuri but I had this idea and wanted to follow through with it. It would be nice to get some criticism on how to make it better and please continue reading when I release the next chapter.  
(:


End file.
